In the heart of the storm, Vakochev chose his target.
He ignored the Sleepless Fiend's bindings entirely, let the white-hot threads scrape uselessly across his obsidian flames, and drove his path straight toward one gaze and one gaze alone. He went for THE OVERSEEING ONE.
And THE OVERSEEING ONE panicked.
For cycles uncounted, this one had sat in comfort behind protective glass, reaching down to manipulate the small tragedies of mortals, staging their sorrows for his own amusement, arranging their doomed little stories and never once bleeding for any of it! He had authored a decillion deaths from a balcony and paid for none!
Now the glass was gone!
Now the protagonist of his worst and most recent failure, the risen Remnant of the one Narrative he could never fully bury, was coming straight for him through a storm no lesser thing could witness, and there was no railing to lean over and no script to hide behind.
Far at the rim, Noah tried desperately to see!
